The Phoenix Unchained (17 page)

THOUGH she begged him—over and over—to change his mind, to come away, to
stop
, there was nothing Saravasse could do to stop him. She did not need to be close by for him to draw upon her power. And so Saravasse ranged farther and farther away on her flights. Bisochim missed her presence and her company, but told himself that they would have centuries together once his work here was done. Then she would see that it had all been for her. There would be time then.

He threw himself into the work, drawing on Saravasse’s power to bring the world back into order and balance once more. The voices in the fire told him what to do, and how to do it. They told him more. They told him that there were those who did not wish him to succeed, who wished the Balance completely destroyed past all repairing.

The enemy was still weak—as weak as the Darkness that Bisochim was coaxing toward life—but Bisochim knew that the enemy’s power would grow. That power was tied to the Light, and the Light was out of Balance. His enemy would gain swiftly in power and strength, and destroy all that Bisochim had labored so long to create. Long before another who shared Bisochim’s vision could be born, the Great Balance would have been shattered forever.

He did not wish his enemy any personal harm. Whoever it was, Bisochim knew that the enemy acted in ignorance of the damage it was ultimately causing. But Bisochim dared not fail—for his own sake, and for that of Saravasse. A terrible death for his enemy would serve as a warning to any allies that enemy might have—and perhaps do something, in a small way, to redress the Balance Itself. And so, from the shores of the Lake of Fire, Bisochim sent the worst death he could imagine.

Cold
.

Five

A Killing Frost

P 
AIN WOKE HIM. He’d never been so cold in his life.

The dream he’d been having vanished the moment Tiercel opened his eyes, leaving his head stuffed full of jagged uncomfortable images that slithered away when he tried to think about them. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

He tried to move, and the hay beneath his blankets crackled as if it were shards of glass. Cold-cramped muscles protested, shocking him further awake. The loft was pitch dark. No lanterns here, of course, but there should be lanterns burning in the stable below, and light should be coming up from there through the open trap door.

It was
cold
.

So cold his eyes burned with it, so cold the blood on his mouth froze and flaked. The queasiness he’d felt that morning as he and
Harrier had been leaving the City was back—stronger now—and with it, the same sick terror he felt in his dreams of the Fire Woman and the burning lake. But he was awake now, and this was not fire, but cold. Unnatural cold.

“Harrier.” He meant to shout, but his voice came out in a whispery croak. He rolled over to shake Harrier awake. Harrier didn’t wake up.

Fear for Harrier did what fear for himself could not. Tiercel’s only thought was a need to lash out against the cold before it killed everyone sleeping here. Magic against magic. He knew in his bones what this cold was. Magic. This was summer in the Delfier Forest—not the High Mystrals at Midwinter—and cold like this should not be. There was only one thing that could save them. The first spell, the simplest spell of the High Magick. It spilled into his consciousness like water through a gate.

Fire
.

With a sudden
whoosh
the hayloft was burning.

NO one blamed Tiercel for setting the hayloft afire, but of course, no one knew he had. The moment he cast his spell, the killing cold vanished.

The men sleeping in the hayloft were groggy with cold, but managed to rouse themselves to smother the fire before it spread too far. Fortunately, the cold had not affected those sleeping in the inn as badly. The smell of the smoke roused the kitchen boys, who managed to get to the warning-bell and awaken the rest of the inhabitants of the inn. They ran to the loft, pitching its burning contents out to the bare ground below, smothering the burning hay with boards, blankets, anything that came to hand. The fire
had
to be smothered. There was no water. The well, the trough, even the water in the buckets in the stable was frozen solid. When the fire was
out, the damage was assessed. The chickens penned behind the stable were dead of cold. The stable cat was dead as well. Their bodies were frozen.

“WE have to leave,” Tiercel said.

He was huddled next to Harrier in the inn’s Common Room. Both fireplaces had been built up with roaring fires—despite the season—and everyone who had been in the stable was huddled around one or the other, wrapped in blankets. Those who had slept in the loft were as cold as if they had slept naked in the snow at Midwinter, and their lungs were wracked with smoke, but all would live.

“Now?” Harrier asked shakily. His hands were wrapped around a mug of steaming cider, but he was still shivering so hard he was spilling nearly as much as he drank.

“As soon as it’s light,” Tiercel said in a low voice. A spasm of coughing shook him, and he huddled closer to the fire. He didn’t think he would ever be warm again.

“You think this was you.”

Tiercel shot him a look of fond disgust. “I
know
it was me. When are you going to admit it? I had another dream, then I woke up, and we were all freezing to death.”

This time Harrier glanced around to see if they were being overheard before speaking. Simera was standing before the other fireplace. Fortunately she’d chosen to sleep outside that night, near the animals, and so had been away from the worst of the cold. It had centered on the hayloft.

“About that woman?” Harrier asked.

“I don’t remember this one, actually. But it was the same kind of dream, I think. The cold woke me, and I knew I had to do something.”

“And you . . . set the hayloft on fire.” For the first time Tiercel heard belief in Harrier’s voice. Belief. And fear.

“I had to do something.”

“You set the hayloft on fire,” Harrier repeated. He sounded as if the fact that Tiercel might have done so were a personal insult.

“Keep your voice down. I’ll pay for the damage.”

“And explain that how?”

“I’ll think of something. But we have to leave. If we stay, and something else happens . . .”

It will be my fault. And I don’t think I can live with that
.

“You’re right,” Harrier said with a sigh. “I just don’t . . . This is crazy, you know. You. Casting spells.”

“It was just one spell.”

Tiercel looked around the room. The Common Room was full, though it was only a little after Watch Bells, as close as he could guess. Everyone the Three Trees held was here, filling the Common Room and all four of what were usually the private parlors. They were gathered together in small groups, talking in low voices, trying to make sense of something that could not be explained.

“Everybody’s really scared,” Harrier said.

Tiercel looked at him. “Me, too.”

A few moments later Simera came over with a steaming jug, working her way carefully through the knots of standing travelers.

“You should drink more,” she said, refilling both their mugs. “There’s Allheal in the cider. Smoke hurts the throat.”

“I’m so thirsty,” Tiercel said hoarsely. He gulped at the fresh mug of cider, wincing only a little at how hot it was.

“It’s because of the cold,” Simera answered. She frowned faintly. “It was an unnatural thing. If that fire hadn’t started when it did, I
think we would have all died—in the stable and the stableyard both.”

“Lucky thing,” Harrier said quickly.

She glanced at him sharply.

“Is this why you’re looking for a Wildmage?” she asked Tiercel, taking care to keep her voice low.

“Nothing like this has ever happened before. I swear by the Light,” he answered, his voice a low whisper. “I don’t . . . Simera, do
you
have any idea what happened?”

“Me?” The Centauress looked surprised. “A whole inn nearly freezes to death at the beginning of summer—you think it’s your fault—and you want to know if
I
know why? What I think is that you should go back where you came from and get somebody to help you.”

Tiercel shook his head. “They can’t. I know they can’t. And . . . what if what happened tonight had happened in Armethalieh? What if I hadn’t woken up?” He looked at Harrier. His friend’s face was grim.

“There are thousands of people in Armethalieh,” Harrier said quietly.

“Well, Sentarshadeen isn’t that small, and you’re planning to go there. What if it happens again in Sentarshadeen?” Simera asked reasonably.

Tiercel shook his head wearily. “I don’t know. But I’ll have a couple of sennights on the road to figure something out—away from people. Maybe it won’t happen again at all. Maybe a Wild-mage will be waiting for me in Sentarshadeen. There was one waiting the last time I was there. Maybe . . . I don’t know. But I can’t stay here. And I can’t go back.”

Simera studied his face for a moment, then nodded.

“All right. But I’m going with you.” At both boys’ look of surprise, she made a face, then continued. “I may not be Forest Watch yet, but almost. It’s my duty to protect you—
and
the forest. You
need to stay away from people and still get to Sentarshadeen. I can help you. You need to survive in the forest, and I bet neither of you has ever done that before. Am I right?”

Tiercel and Harrier both reluctantly nodded.

“You need someone who can hunt for food, because we won’t be going near any inns. I can do that too. And if there’s something chasing you, well, I’m not afraid of it. You’re a good person, Tiercel Rolfort, and whatever this is that’s happening to you, I’m sure you don’t deserve it.” She glared meaningfully at Harrier, as if daring him to argue with her.

Harrier just shrugged.